Exposed
by Dreameroflife.1
Summary: Clara Snowara is a misty figure in London. Through her multi-billion dollar company, she has managed to show the world that she has a mind that could put Einstein and Tesla to shame. So, what will happen when Clara Snowara decides to have fun and the illustrious Sherlock Holmes gets bored? R&R! First Sherlock fic ever. K for some crudeness.
1. Prolouge

**_A/N: Having extreme feels for Sherlock does not do one good. So, welcome this monstorosity. Review, favourite, follow ! :) I will love you forever and give you hugs in rainbows._**

**_xo,_**

**_dreameroflife.1_**

In a world where power, money, secrets and corruption roam, there was a man that saw through each and every ploy pulled by all the kind of people that populate the world. Coincidentally there was also a woman. A woman whose secrets ran deeper than the roots of the oldest tree, and a woman whose intelligence knew no bounds.

To see the world from both the points of the man and the woman would be a blur of emotional tangles, warped thoughts and well… let's face it, you wouldn't understand it. For you see, they were the perfect imperfect counter-parts. Both were clever, both were smart, but there was one thing that differs between them. Emotion. The woman thrived on emotion, and her emotions dictated her thoughts and the way she controlled her logic. The man, however, did not. He hid from emotion and pushed emotion down. He let logic dictate his emotions. Neither were right in the way in which they controlled their emotion.

Both were wrong. Something that both rarely ever experienced. If it was not for that one fateful day when Sherlock Holmes got bored, and Clara Snowara decided that she would have some fun that these two people would ever meet. For you see, this day entwined their fates, whether they liked it or not. So, I, your dear friend shall tell this story from a rather neutral point of view, where both Sherlock and Clara are shown to their true colours. They will be shown raw, naked and above all, exposed.


	2. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Please review, fave and follow!**_

John Hamish Watson was a man I would consider simple. He was a simple man of simple intentions and so it was wonder to some how he had ended up Sherlock Holmes' companion and frequently misinterpreted lover. They were not lovers—at least not to my knowledge—John being as straight as a pole, hitting on everything with a vagina and Sherlock being as unamused by love and attraction as a rock. So it was perfectly normal for John to wake up to the sound of gunfire coming from the sitting room. He groaned and rolled over, willing for Sherlock to find something that would amuse him. Unless it was a case of the uttermost complexity, John knew that the gunfire would not cease for another hour or so, until Sherlock decided to switch tasks and hack his personal computer. Shuddering at the thought, John sat straight up in bed and decided to think over his predicament. Sherlock had already gone through his computer on more than one occasion, what else could there possibly be? The gunfire ceased rather suddenly and John was face with an internal problem. To get up, or not? Now, John knew that Sherlock would without a doubt, move on to a worse task—maybe collecting heads and other such fascinating hobbies—so he decided that he would get up and serve as company to his impatient friend.

Sherlock Holmes was pacing in the sitting room impatiently, shotgun still in his hand. He was bored. It had been days since his last case and without another case to distract him, he was going to need to smoke. Nicotine helped him think, as did other narcotics, however, Sherlock had realised that while it may be helpful, it was as equally crippling. He had now resorted to nicotine patches, instead of the 'cancer sticks' as he had heard other people dub them. Sherlock was—as usual—in his robe, despite the chill. It wasnot terribly warm in the apartment, due to the fact that Sherlock had shot the radiator the other day and Mrs. Hudson still hadn't gotten around to getting a serviceman to come and take a look at it. Obviously, it was going to come out of their rent. It wasn't a new occurrence, especially since Sherlock had destroyed many things in the apartment he shared with John. Sherlock walked sauntered over to the kitchen, stalking straight up to the fridge. He opened it, cast a bored look upon the heads in it, and slammed the door shut. Nothing new had happened since 5 minutes ago. It was at this precise moment that John ambled in to the sitting room.

"Good morning, Sherlock." John said, in what I suppose, he thought was a cheery tone.

"Took you long enough." Came Sherlock's reply, "Find me something to do."

"Have you been through my laptop yet? I changed the password yesterday; maybe you could entertain yourself by figuring it out?" John suggested, walking in to the kitchen and putting the kettle to boil. Nothing like a good old' cup of tea to ward off the chill. "Has Mrs. Hudson called the serviceman yet? It's a bit chilly in here."

Sherlock sighed, still standing in front of the fridge, "Obviously, she hasn't. I also don't think that pneumonoultramicroscopicsili covolcanokoniosis is a terrific password. A disease that is caused by the inhalation of fine silica dust from an erupting volcano, may be rare, but as a password? – a little too predictable."

"Right," John said, as he made a cup of tea for himself and Sherlock. Just as he had started pouring in the steaming water, Sherlock breezed past and picked up the mug of the counter, causing John to pour some water on to the counter.

"Oi, I could have burnt your hands you bloody idiot!" John said, grabbing a kitchen towel and mopping up the mess.

"On the contrary, I believe you would have burnt your hands." Sherlock said with a sly smirk.


	3. Chapter 2

_**Oh, lookie, whats this, a new chapter of Sherlocky fanfiction goodness? ;)**_

_**R&R!**_

Clara Snowara sat in her office, gazing out of the ceiling-high window overlooking the Thames. She tapped her fingers against the leather chair she was sitting on, her ruby family ring hitting the metal arm of the chair. She sighed, and continued tapping out a tune. Now, the thing about Clara Snowara is that she was rarely ever entertained for longer than an hour. It was simply due to the fact that her brain processes things much faster, and so she thinks about an hour into the future. It was one of her pitfalls, but it made running a successful company that much easier. Sure, she knew the algorithms for tracking stock trends like the back of her hand, but it was always about thinking ahead and being in front of everyone else. It was what made a company successful. And, _boy_ was success boring. Clara wished that someone would come in with an offer she couldn't refuse, or that she could think of some other kind of plan that was as absorbing as it was entertaining. Almost as if her wishes were granted by a higher power—not that she believed in any of that, being a strict atheist, maybe it was the prospect of an almighty being creating everything that seemed so foreign to her—one of her personal assistants, Miranda, walked in to the office. It was because Clara liked Miranda that she could walk in whenever she pleased, otherwise everyone had to knock and wait for however long Clara wished before she would let them in.

"I brought you all the newspapers the city has, as you wished." Miranda said, dumping a stack of newspapers on Clara's pristine desk. Clara waved a hand in dismissal; she had forgotten that she had asked that of Miranda. Clara liked to be up to date with the happenings of the world, simply for her amusement. She usually knew what was going to happen before it did anyway.

"Are you absolutely certain that you have acquired a copy of each of them? Even the Korean ones?" Clara asked, wheeling herself back to her desk. What can I say; she was a lazy human being.

"Even those, I have triple checked that a copy of every single possible newspaper is in that stack." Miranda said, pointing to the stack that was teetering on Clara's desk. It was fairly high, and thick, but knowing Clara, she would have read through them all in the next 30-45 minutes depending on how much time she wanted to waste.

"Thank you Miranda." Clara said, picking up the first paper of the top of the pile. She needn't have said that Miranda was dismissed; Miranda knew from her many years with Clara that once she picked something up of interest, it was best that she'd be left alone. Clara spent the next fifteen minutes reading the newspapers from the top of her stack. She had read through the Chinese, Korean, Greek and Indian ones, and was just finishing the last of the Spanish. Clara sighed in to her palm as she read. The world was certainly a boring place; all the newspapers were ever filled with was war, politics and crime. In Clara's opinion, politics were the work of the idiots of the world and saw nothing that could possibly be good about it. She understood perfectly well that her success was due to political and social ideology, however let's not forget that Clara thought success was boring, just like she found an astounding amount of things. Crime was petty and ludicrous but she supposed, without crime, there would be nothing fun. As for war, that was something she was stricttly against and she had promised herself to make it her personal mission to stop all forms of war happening. Clara had a flair for making impossible things happen.

Once she had finished the newspaper she had currently been reading, she plucked another from the pile, whilst tossing the read paper on the floor. Clara skimmed the front page of the paper as she usually did, not expecting anything to stand out or appeal to her curiosity. Clara smiled to herself as a title caught her eye.

"Well, it looks like I have found something to do." She said to herself before once again summoning her assistant, Miranda.

"Please get me James Moriarty on the phone."


End file.
